Chapter 22
FIFI
Working furiously tonight to finish my design project after two days of using all my spare time between classes, I step on the sewing machine pedal like I’m revving an engine.
This project is too important for me to worry about skipping lunches, breaking my body-is-a-temple rule, shoving down whatever snack food I find in the kitchen. Think M&Ms and Fritos.
Important enough to shove aside Trick’s disappointment over not seeing him tonight, and that wounded puppy dog look he showed for a tiny flash—a look I’ve never seen before and don’t want to see again if I’m honest.
Ricci bounces into my room, flopping down on my bed while I finish a seam. “Are you sure you don’t want to come out with us?”
“Positive.”
“What’s Trick up to? He coming over?” She smirks.
“No.” My shoulders slump because I’m not happy with the situation even though it was my idea. “He’s going out with Pammy for a drink at The Stone Church.”
“He is? Everyone will see them together. Oh my god—you’re trying to set off a gossip storm, aren’t you?” She laughs. “Brilliant.”
“Yeah? Why do I feel stupid?”
“If you want people to believe he’s into Pammy and not you… well, they might. But it’s a stretch. They’re more likely to think he’s a douche, playing games with you.”
“Kids on campus might think that, but if word gets back to Rye—and Vincent in particular—it’ll reinforce the idea that Trick and Pammy are a real couple.”
“I suppose. So while you’re in your room slaving away, those two are out eating and drinking and who knows what—and you’re okay with that?”
I laugh. “Of course not. But I’m positive there’s no who knows what going on. Besides, I needed to get rid of Trick tonight to keep him from distracting me.”
My design gets a big applause, not only from my classmates, but from Prof M. Everyone but Darcy gushes over it.
One of the girls who I work well with, Tamara, asks questions about where I sourced the soft furry trim for the hem and straps.
I tell her, “It was hard to find and now it’s on back order, so I hope I don’t make any mistakes with it.”
Darcy nods. “It’s cute.” I’m too grateful for her rare positive comment to question her sincerity. I’m going to go with her grudging compliment as genuine respect.
“Looks like we’re about ready for the Fashion Show at the Winter Snow Ball this Saturday,” Prof declares.
“Leave your designs here, and you can make your final corrections and finishing touches during the next class on Thursday. Then we’ll meet for a dress rehearsal two hours ahead of the Ball. Any questions?”
No one but Darcy has a question. “I forgot a belt and I’d like to bring it in tomorrow to leave it with my project. Okay?”
Professor M makes a face. “If you absolutely must. I’ll be in my office in the morning. See me then.”
Darcy smiles wide like I’ve rarely seen before.
I’m glad she’s feeling better about her project.
It would be epic if she softened up and we could share our angst about this over the next few days.
Tamara and the others are great, but Darcy is my roommate, right there in our apartment, with me every day.
“You going to another class or back home?” I ask her as we’re throwing on our coats to leave.
She grins. “Back home? Sure, let’s call it that.” She laughs and joins me as we walk back to the Hamlet, which I now think of as home.
As Stat class ends, my happy glow at getting a 92 on my quiz, better than Trick’s 90, starts to fade.
“This is it until Saturday night, sugar lips,” he says as he takes my hand to walk me out, apparently not caring who sees us.
“Are you sure about that? We could meet for dinner—”
“The coach insists we eat all our meals as a team at the facility for the rest of the season.”
“That’s crazy.” I disengage my hand from Trick’s to put on my sunglasses against the glare of the sun against the white snow. It flurried while we were in class, bringing a fresh blanket on top of the dirty trampled old stuff.
“It’ll get better next week. We need to be preparing for Saturday’s matinee game against Maine. They’re the number one team in the division. That’s going to take up all focus, or almost all of it.” He grins and leans close, lowering his head to nuzzle my cheek, giving me a quick kiss.
“You’re getting so brazen.” I laugh, pulling away.
“Sure. There were a lot of pics taken of me and Pammy the other night.” He shrugs. “That should keep people guessing.”
“Aren’t you worried about getting a reputation for being a two-timer?”
He laughs. “Babe, you know my reputation is already a lot worse than that. People expect me to get around.”
“Pardon me, Mr. Playboy.” I wish he didn’t seem to relish that reputation so much.
“I love the female half of our species.” I have no answer to that and slow my steps. Then he adds in a whisper, close to my ear, “Some—make that one—more than others.” His hot breath and the deep vibration of his voice do things to me, sinful, wonderful things, the way his whispers always do.
But a gust of wind blows, and I straighten my spine as he heads off to the Whit for his team lunch and whatever, and I head for Philly to meet Ricci and Nina.
Nervous excitement hurries my steps on the way to design class on Thursday. I looked for Darcy to walk over with her, but she must have left super early. Nina said she was in a hurry and barely saw her.
Going to my assigned close, I reach for the bag with my glam dress and stop.
Frozen, except for the wild beating of my heart, I can’t make sense of what I’m seeing even as dread seeps in.
It looks like red paint splashed all over the inside of the closet and my garment bag, patterns, and sketch pads.
There’s an empty red paint can toppled on its side at the bottom.
“No.” I barely whisper. “Oh my god.” My heart pounds harder and faster, and my hands shake as I unzip the garment bag, realizing it’s already half opened. “Shit.” Carefully, I try to avoid touching the sticky paint while I remove my dress from the bag.
“Nooo.” The pitch of my voice is almost at dog-whistle level as I pull it out and find my worst nightmare. “My dress… is covered in red paint.”
Tamara shrieks, rushing to my side. Others murmur, glancing in my direction as I look around in disbelief, as if I’m searching for an answer.
“What the fuck?” Tamara says, shaking her head as she examines the red-soaked dress that had once been my beautiful glam project.
Professor M hustles over to us while I try to hold my shit together, my mind spinning between trying to make sense of how this could have happened and trying to think of a fix.
The prof stops short. “Oh… No.” She takes the ruined garment from me and examines it. “Is this paint?” She sounds as incredulous as I feel. Except I’m angrier.
“Looks like it.” My classmates form a small crowd gathered around us now, staring at the mess.
“Everyone check your projects if you haven’t already,” Professor M clips. “This looks like vandalism.”
Darcy says, “There’s blue paint on my bag.” She pulls it out from the closet, and Professor M rushes toward her, and we all follow.
After examining every square inch, they find no damage to her garment.
“Thank god. Anyone else find paint or damage anywhere?”
“There’s some red paint on the floor near my closet, but nothing inside,” one of the guys, Derek, says.
No one else finds anything.
“I’m going to call campus police and report the matter. You all continue your work.” She turns to me. “We’ll see what we can do about your project when I get back.”
Compressing my mouth closed so tight in an effort to not cry, I’m worried my lips are going to bleed.
“Shit,” Tamara says. She puts a hand on my arm, and I turn to her, almost ready to squeeze my eyes shut before they fill with useless tears. Then she takes me in a hug. “I’m so sorry this happened to you. Especially to your kickass glam design.”
I absorb the calm of her hug and then straighten and swipe at my eyes, nodding. “Thank you.”
Darcy comes over. “I’m sorry too.” She touches my arm awkwardly, then turns away.
The others grumble about how awful and unfair this is while they get to work, and I… sit.
But there’s no way I’m going to let a random vandal ruin my opportunity for success. Flicking Ellery Yumo is going to be there, and I know she’s looking for talent. Her design shop is huge.
“I can do another design. I have time.”
“You do? There are only two days—maybe two and a half if you count today,” Tamara says.
“No way you can create another glam dress,” Darcy says. “Not something that would be worthy of this class.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. But I’m not about to give up trying.”
She shakes her head and snickers like I’m some kind of pathetic delusional person, but she doesn’t know me, doesn’t understand what I can do when I put my mind to it—and everything else I have.
She doesn’t know that an idea has already taken root and is gaining momentum as I put it together in my head.
Whipping out my sketch pad, I get to work.
My phone wakes me way too early after a lot of restless non-sleep, but I reflexively answer it because it could be Trick.
“Sofia? This is Professor Matami. Can you come to my office this morning to discuss the incident and your project?”
“Of course.”
In a blur of time, punctured by desperate gulps of coffee to get my brain de-fogged, I end up speed-walking down the empty hallway in a rush toward my professor’s office.
The door is open, but I stand on the threshold, tapping on the door frame as I take in the magnificence of the most outstanding office of any professor I’ve ever seen.
The original solid oak floors are the only recognizable feature, although they’re polished to a blinding gleam.
The large window behind her desk can’t be the same as every other office window, and yet I know it is.
But the frame of this one is painted in black and shellacked so hard it looks like an evil mirror reflecting the tiny white lights that surround it.